Rabbit Hearted Girl
by dammitharad
Summary: It was supposed to be a lazy evening, but instead of getting pizza Cosette and Grantaire end up with demons swarming their house, complete with a gorgeous blond man and a bad-tempered girl wielding guns. Neither of them are sure what the hell is going on, but everything is about to change. Cosette/Marius, background E/R and Eponine/Combeferre
1. Strange Creatures

**Warning: Violence, guns and some language**

**One**

**_Strange Creatures_**

Cosette sang along with the radio as she wiped down the kitchen countertops of icing sugar, flour and smears of ginger syrup. There was a ginger cake baking in the oven, a batch of vanilla butter cream in the fridge, and a large glass of wine waiting for her in the living room to drink whilst she waited for the cake to finish cooking. She'd had a hellish day at work, and baking was her way of calming herself down.

That, and the wine would certainly help take the edge off her stress.

She hummed to herself and ran the dishcloth under the warm tap, rinsing out the wet clumps of powder. With that done, she wrung out the cloth and placed it on the side before rinsing out the sink of all vestiges of her baking.

She heard the front door slam shut and the sound of keys being dropped heavily onto the dining room table. "Hello!" she shouted to her housemate. "Grantaire, don't you _dare_ touch that wine!" she added as an afterthought, mind going straight to her best friend's excessive drinking habits.

"Are you baking? You are, you're baking," Grantaire said, sweeping into the kitchen. He wore a denim shirt over stone-coloured trousers, and his dark hair was tousled and windswept. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. "What delight is it tonight?"

"A ginger cake," Cosette said, wiping her hands on the nearest towel and leaning her hips against the countertop behind her.

"Ah," he said. "How shit was your day at work then?" He rooted in the fridge and emerged with a bottle of beer and a pot of hummus.

"Pretty terrible," she said. "What with Greg's wandering hands and Chantal's snide comments."

Grantaire placed the bottle of beer onto the side along with the hummus and rooted in the kitchen drawers for a bottle opener. He found it and made a small, triumphant noise at the back of his throat and proceeded to pry the cap off his bottle. "You should quit," he said, not looking at her. "Or, at the very least, report Greg for sexual harassment."

"I need the money," Cosette said, automatically.

Grantaire snorted. "No, you don't," he said. "Valjean would pay your rent if you asked."

"I don't _want_ to ask," Cosette retorted, watching as he began to dig into the breadbin. He stood back with a disappointed look on his face. "What is it?" she said.

"We've no pitta bread," he said, pouting.

"Yeah, and I'm also not sure how long that hummus has been there either," she said, reaching out to give him a sympathetic pat on the arm. "Maybe give the Greek snack a miss for tonight."

"But I'm hungry," he whined.

"Get some proper food," she said, pushing off the counter.

"Take away," he shot back.

"Ugh, I don't think my hips can handle a takeaway."

"Please, your hips are perfect," Grantaire snorted. "If you weren't my best friend, I'd do you. Now, takeaway."

"I don't want a takeaway," she muttered, but began to look in the drawers for menus anyway.

Grantaire made a pleased humming sound under his breath and binned the possibly gone-off hummus before taking a swig of his beer. "Now, back to your shit job," he said. "Seriously, quit or report Greg, or let me –"

"You are not punching my manager in the face," she said, shoving various brightly coloured menus in his direction.

"I don't see why I can't," he muttered.

"Because I don't want to have to rely on my father for the rest of my life," Cosette said. "I'm going to start looking at other jobs tomorrow. Hopefully I can get another one soon and I'll be done there."

"Please, _please_ report Greg before you go," Grantaire urged, toeing his shoes off his feet and kicking them to the edges of the kitchen. He thumbed through one of the menus, an Indian takeaway by the looks of it. "Or slap him, or kick him in the balls, or _something_."

"I'll consider it," she said, sternly. "Now, I'm going to go and drink my wine and try to put today behind me."

He followed her through the dining room and into the sitting room next to it, where her glass of wine waited like an old friend. He carried the menus tucked under his arm and threw them onto the sofa when she sat down, curling her legs beneath her.

She took a sip of the wine and tilted her head back. "Ugh, I needed that," she muttered.

"I'm voting pizza," Grantaire said. "Or maybe kebabs. Ooh, _kebabs_, Cosette."

"No kebabs," she said. "Pizza."

"Pizza," he murmured, flopping down next to her. "Yeah, pizza sounds good."

She placed her feet into his lap and he absent-mindedly patted them with the hand that held his bottle of beer.

"Do you want to watch a film, maybe?" she suggested.

"Could do," he said. "But no rom-com crap."

"Something bloody," she said, her eyes lighting up at the thought. "Didn't you buy that horror film last week?"

"Yeah, but that was more chiller than slasher," he said. "We could always break out the classics if you want blood," he added, waggling his eyebrows.

"They're upstairs," Cosette said, through a yawn. "I can't be arsed going upstairs."

He rolled his eyes. "Lazy arse," he muttered, leaning over to place his beer on the coffee table and gently pushing her feet out of his lap. He stood, stretching his arms over his head. "I'll bring down a selection," he said. "And I might get changed whilst I'm up there. You go ahead an order if you want, I'll just have a pepperoni pizza. Can we share fries?"

"Sure," she said, giving him a wide grin. "Love you," she added, as he walked out of the room. He flipped her off, and she heard his footsteps thudding up the stairs.

She stretched her arms over to the small table in the corner next to the sofa to grab the phone. She quickly dialled the takeaway's number, ordered the pepperoni pizza for Grantaire and a chicken and sweetcorn pizza for herself, plus their shared fries and a pint of ice cream, and then put the phone back in its cradle. Tipping back more wine, she picked up the TV listings magazine that lay discarded on the floor and began to rifle through it whilst she waited for Grantaire.

She'd barely turned onto the second page when she heard the crashing sound from the kitchen. Her entire body jumped and tensed all at the same time. It sounded horribly like glass smashing, and then there was a loud rattling sound.

Her movements slow, she placed the glass on the coffee table beside Grantaire's beer bottle and let the magazine drop onto the ground. She got to her feet. There were some thuds from the kitchen, and the sound of wood splintering, feet crunching over glass.

Her eyes swung around the room, looking for something heavy to grab. A few months ago, Grantaire's golf clubs were stashed behind the sofas, but she'd spirited them away to his bedroom when her father came to visit so that the place would look tidier. In desperation, she grabbed the large glass vase from the mantelpiece and tipped it up, cool water splashing onto the carpet and soaking her toes and lilies bouncing as they hit the ground.

Holding the glass vase in her hands, she edged through the open door into the dining room. There were no more sounds from the kitchen, but the door was stood ajar. She couldn't remember if it had been closed – Grantaire had been last through it…

Her heart in her mouth she strode forward into the kitchen. To her pleasant surprise, it was empty, although the window on the back door was smashed – and that was not all, there was a gaping hole in the door as well, chunks of wood everywhere amongst the spray of shattered glass. Cold, bitter wind blew through the windows, but apart from that, the room was very still and quiet.

Then something sharp sank into the back of her knee. She screamed in pain, swinging around. Something was hanging off her leg. It appeared to be an animal of some kind, but it looked almost humanlike; its skin was reddish, hard and scaly, and its eyes were mean little black holes set into a flat face with small slits instead of a nose and mouth. Tiny ivory horns stuck out of the tops of its head. It had its mouth fixed around the back of her leg and she kicked out wildly. She'd dropped the vase in her surprise and it had smashed upon hitting the tiled kitchen floor. The weight of the creature and the pain made her crash to the ground, glass slicing through the skin of her arms.

She let out a whimpering noise. She scrambled, hands searching, and they curled around the largest piece of glass she could get her hands on. She swung her hand down onto the creature's neck. It let out an odd, strangled sound as thick green liquid pulsed from around the shard of glass.

Cosette scrambled to her feet, pain singing through her body. She ran forwards, stepping onto the creature as she moved. She flung herself into the dining room and stumbled, hitting the carpet hard. She lay there for a few seconds, stunned and bleeding and terrified.

She heard the sound of scratching.

Slowly, she raised her eyes. There were more of the little creatures stood over her, and then one much larger one, its skin several shades lighter but its eyes smaller and nastier. They held clubs of varying sizes in their claw-like hands.

She wanted to move, and yet, she couldn't force herself to. Her limbs had taken on the weight of lead, it seemed.

"Grantaire," she said, but it came out feeble and quiet. The largest creature stepped forward. "GRANTAIRE!" she screamed at the top of her lungs, not sure where she was dragging up the volume from.

Upstairs, she heard the sound of crashing and running and the dining room door flung open just as the largest creature knotted its claws into Cosette's hair.

"Cosette!" Grantaire bellowed, darting forwards. She tried to look at him, but the creature was wrenching her head backwards. She felt like he was pulling her hair out by the roots.

Grantaire grabbed one of the chairs from under the dining table and swung it down onto the nearest creatures. "What – the fuck – are they?" he shouted, hitting some more.

Cosette was scratching at the hand in her hair, and then she lunged forwards, throwing her weight at the creature. He went down as she clung to his hand, and the shock he seemed to suffer from her actions allowed her to grab his large, knobbly club from his hands and hit him around the head with it.

She sat back on her haunches, breathless. Across the room, Grantaire stood, still holding the slightly battered chair, his chest also heaving. He'd managed to make short work of the smaller creatures, who lay on the ground in various different states of injury, some oozing more of that thick green fluid.

Cosette had a horrible feeling her face was wet. The club dropped from her hands and she backed away from the creature beneath her. A second later, Grantaire was kneeling in front of her, his face calm but hard, his hands on her shoulders and thumbs on the side of her neck.

"Cosette, we need to get you to a hospital," he said. "You're hurt."

"What's going on?" she said, but before he could say anything, the air around them seemed to explode. Grantaire pushed her to the ground, covering her body with his. The bang had been deafening and her ears were ringing, her head swimming, and had that been all of the windows in the house breaking or her imagination?

Things had got very cold, though, so maybe it wasn't her imagination. Grantaire moved away from her, but his hand gripped hers tightly.

She opened her eyes. The dining room windows had been blown in, as had the large front window she could see through the door.

Suddenly, more of the creatures poured in through the dining room windows, amongst them some of the larger ones that Cosette had dealt with.

Grantaire was on his feet before she could process what was going on, and he yanked her up with him, pulling her across the room and through the living room door just as the creatures began to swing their clubs. There were blows to the backs of her legs and her lower back until Grantaire shoved her out of the way and slammed the living room door shut in the creatures' faces.

Cosette lurched forwards, also throwing her weight against the door to try and stop them from shoving it open. She wasn't sure what the point was, though, because now they were coming in through the living room window and…

Someone else appeared at the window. A woman. She was tall, slim and muscular, and her hair was dark and pulled back off her forehead. Her expression was severe, and in her hands were two long, thin knives. She crouched on the windowsill for a few seconds before jumping into the room.

Cosette screamed, but the woman came down with her knives slashing into the nearest creature's necks. The woman spun on the spot as the creatures' changed direction to swing their clubs towards her. The blades swung through the air, and globs of that foul green liquid flew through the air.

A man appeared at the window. He was tall and blond and _fuck_, fuck, he had a _gun_. The sounds of the gunshots were deafening to Cosette's ears and shit, she knew she was crying now. Thankfully he was aiming them at the creatures, not at them, but one of the bullets thudded into the wall next to the door.

The creatures on the other side of the door were still desperately throwing their weight against it. Cosette wasn't sure how much of a help she was being in keeping it shut, as Grantaire was doing most of the job, his face strained with exertion.

"Éponine!" the blond man shouted, running towards them. "Take them and get out!"

The blond man shoved both Cosette and Grantaire out of the way, despite Grantaire's protests. Cosette found herself being pulled away from the door by the woman – Éponine, was it? – and towards the window they went.

"Come on, climb up," Éponine urged, keeping to one side. Grantaire's arm wound around Cosette's waist and he lifted her up into the windowsill. She wobbled and fell into the front garden, her fall cushioned by the bushes outside even if the scratchy branches played havoc with the wounds she already had.

Grantaire clambered out after her, closely followed by the dark-haired woman. The woman moved lightly over the tops of the bushes, leaping over the garden wall onto the street itself. Considering the insanity going on inside Cosette and Grantaire's home, the street looked bizarrely normal, very still, some of the windows glowing and some flashing with what she presumed were televisions playing.

The only thing out of the ordinary was the unfamiliar, bright red car that sat idling outside her home. The woman flung open the back doors and gestured towards the car. "Get in," she ordered, in a curt voice.

"Who the fuck are you and what is going on?" Grantaire barked, helping Cosette out of the bushes. He held her close, and she was glad for the warmth and weight of his body beside hers.

The front window to the car rolled down and a man stuck his head out. He was grinning broadly and had a mop of curly dark brown hair. "Don't be so rude," he scolded in a gentle voice. "Éponine just saved your life. Now be good children and get in the back of the car. We'll explain on the way."

"This is like some shit movie," Grantaire said, rolling his eyes, but he pulled Cosette towards the car and helped her inside.

She was shaking. He wrapped his arm around her as they huddled in the back. Éponine hovered anxiously outside the car. It wasn't long before the blond man came leaping out of the window. He was shouting something, but Cosette didn't care to hear what he was saying. Éponine jumped into the seat beside Grantaire and the blond man got into the front. The doors were slammed shut and the car sped off down the street with a screech of wheels.

Cosette was aware of the blond man passing Éponine a gun, and windows being rolled down so that Éponine could hang out of the window and fire at whatever was chasing them. Cosette twisted her head, and with a jolt, saw hers and Grantaire's house was on fire, the familiar brick building completely swallowed by flames.

OOO

Eventually, they left the city behind, the rows of houses and shops and tower blocks giving way to stretches of fields and bushes trees. By this point, Éponine had sat back in the car, the window now rolled up, and the gun was held loosely in one hand.

"Is anyone going to tell us what the hell is going on?" Grantaire demanded. Now things had calmed down, Cosette could really focus on how much pain she was in. Her entire body throbbed and ached, and her leggings were soaked with blood; her ears were ringing and her head swam and she wanted to sleep so badly, and yet she felt too wired to actually close her eyes. She knew she was trembling, because every so often Grantaire would give her a little squeeze and kiss the top of her head.

"How long till we reach it?" the blond man in the front muttered, ignoring Grantaire.

"Another fifteen minutes, but we'll have to move fast when we get there," the driver said. "Shall we put some music on?"

Grantaire leaned forward, sticking his head into the front of the car between the passenger and driver seats. "What I think you should do is fucking answer my question," he snapped. Cosette missed the loss of his arm around her, and reached out to curl her fingers into his denim shirt. He was about ten seconds away from exploding, she could tell, and it had been so long since Grantaire had exploded.

"Still no need to be rude," the driver sang, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Cosette winced. The dull thuds hurt her ears all of a sudden.

"What do you expect?" Grantaire said incredulously. "We nearly fucking died and got dragged off by people wielding knives and guns, and you don't expect us to have_ questions_?"

"Why is he even here?" the blond one asked out loud. "_He_ isn't what we agreed on here."

"He was with her," Éponine shrugged. "I have no idea who he is. I'm assuming he's her boyfriend."

"Right, I'm still in the fucking car," Grantaire snapped, "And I am not Cosette's boyfriend. Look, we just need –"

"You need to shut up," the blond man said. She could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

"That's it," Grantaire muttered, and there was a scuffling sound and when Cosette looked next Grantaire had managed to snatch Éponine's gun out of her hand and press it to her temple. The woman's eyes had gone very wide and she swallowed. Cosette watched Éponine's hands flex very, very slowly.

"Put that down," the blond man sighed. "I doubt you know how to use it correctly."

"Actually, I'm ex-military, I know how to use a gun," Grantaire said, and now Cosette could hear the eye-rolling in _his_ voice.

There were a few moments of silence, and then Éponine said, "Enjolras, seriously, I think he might –"

"Now isn't the time for a Q and A session," the blond man said. "There's no need to do anything rash. All you need to know for now is that we're on your side, and we are _not_ going to let anyone hurt you."

"I don't give a shit about me, I can look after myself, no problem," Grantaire said. "What I'm actually worried about is the fact my best friend is in shock and still bleeding and that is the _only_ thing that matters to me right now. I'm going to trust you, because so far, you've given me no reason _not_ to, but the minute we're out of this car I expect a full explanation." He lowered the gun. "And I'm hanging on to this," he added, swapping it to his other hand.

Éponine's body relaxed a tiny bit, and she gave Grantaire the dirtiest look Cosette had ever seen.

"I'm not in shock," Cosette piped up in a quiet voice. "It's just…everything hurts."

"We have healers," Éponine muttered, still glaring at Grantaire.

"See, we'll get you cleaned up as soon as possible," Grantaire said, and he reached across himself with the hand that wasn't holding the gun to hold her hand tightly. He gave it a squeeze. "This is all going to be okay, Cosette. You know why?"

She blinked at him, her eyes feeling very hot.

"Because I'm here," he continued. "And I told Valjean a very long time ago that I would always be there to look after you and I am _far_ too scared of your father to go back on my word now."

Cosette managed a watery smile, leaning her forehead against Grantaire's shoulder. Her father's face materialised in her mind, his warm eyes and silly, floppy hair, broad frame and arms that were brilliant at giving hugs. He'd be out of his mind when he realised they were gone – about Grantaire as well, because as much as Grantaire refused to call him anything other than "Jean" or "Valjean" he was as much Grantaire's father as he was Cosette's.

"Does Musichetta know to expect us?" Éponine said, leaning towards the front seat.

"She knew it'd be at some point today," the blond man replied. "Seeing as we had no idea when they'd attack, we couldn't give her a specific time. Hopefully she'll be awake."

"It's just after eight, it'd be a bit weird for her to have gone to bed," the driver said. "She's a night demon, remember?"

"Unless Joly popped over," Éponine said, the hint of a smirk in her voice.

"Joly shouldn't be popping anywhere outside of the compound," the blond man snapped. "It's not safe at the moment and he knows that."

"Night demon?" Cosette whispered, staring up at Grantaire.

His eyes were fixed on the blond man, and his face was expressionless. "I don't know," he said, n a low voice. "I really have no idea what is going on right now."

She swallowed, fearing that things were about to get a lot more complicated.


	2. Magic in Action

**Two**

**_Magic in Action_**

They eventually reached a village. It was no more than a small collection of houses, really, and as it was night time the streets were more or less completely deserted. The driver pulled up outside a row of shops and stopped the car.

"Come on," the blond man said. "Let's get inside fast, you never know who might be lurking about."

Cosette opened her car door and eased herself out onto the street. Her limbs felt stiff, and the pain she was feeling was dimmed a little, forced to the back of her mind. She leaned against the car rather than try and walk. Grantaire climbed out behind her, still holding the gun in his hand.

The driver had got out as well. He was tall, Cosette observed, wearing a dark pair of jeans and a red plaid shirt. He gave her a slow grin as she stood there, but it turned somewhat manic when Grantaire wrapped an arm around her waist.

"Can you walk?" Grantaire murmured in her ear.

"I should be able to," Cosette said back, wincing as a particularly nasty bolt of pain shot up her leg when she tried moving it.

"You can lean on me if you need to," Grantaire said.

"Yeah, and you can lean on me too," the driver said, adding a wink for good measure. "I'm Courfeyrac, by the way. Your name is…Cosette, right?"

Cosette glanced at him. "How do you know my name?" she said curiously, doing as she was told and gently leaning her body against Grantaire.

"I know everything about you," Courfeyrac said, widening his eyes and waggling his fingers. Éponine appeared behind him and smacked him across the back of the head.

"Don't be a creep, Courf," she said, a note of affection in her voice. "There'll be plenty of time to hit on her when we're back at the compound."

The blond man was knocking on the front door of one of the shops. It had a large sign on the front that read _MUSCIHETTA'S_, and there were all sorts of odd little items in the front window, all arranged on what looked like a shiny red fabric. There were still some lights on in the window, little yellow fairy lights, illuminating some crystal balls, a selection of various ornate wooden boxes, a couple of mannequins wearing raggedy clothes with intricate designs stitched into them, and baskets of gems, and some books promising to teach the secrets of witchcraft.

"There'll be no _hitting on_," Grantaire said, firmly.

"You _sure_ she's not your girlfriend?" Courfeyrac wondered as Grantaire began to help her towards the shop, Éponine walking just ahead of them.

"Absolutely," Grantaire said.

"That would be wrong on so many levels," Cosette added.

They heard the sounds of metal dragging against metal, presumably as the bolts on the door were pulled back, and the noise sounded like gunshots in the quiet village. There was a curtain draped over the door's window that concealed the interior of the shop, but a vague outline of a woman could be made out.

The door opened. A woman poked her head out, and then a second later, the door opened fully. "Come in," the woman said, standing aside.

Cosette and Grantaire found themselves ushered into the shop's interior. It smelled heavily of a few different types of incense. The shop was dark, but there were lots of shelves, filled with ornaments and books and boxes and souvenirs and beauty products, and rails of clothes, mainly dresses in velvet and canvas, and there were many mirrors of varying sizes on the walls, each with a different coloured frame. A rickety-looking spiral of stairs was behind the counter.

The woman shut the door behind them, and bolted it too. Then she reached out and flicked a switch on the wall, flooding the room with yellow light.

"The mission was successful, then?" the woman said, raising her eyebrows. Cosette thought she might have the loveliest face she'd ever seen; her skin was a rich, dark golden colour, and her eyes were shades of chocolate. Her long, curly black hair was arranged in a plait draped over one shoulder, and she wore a white silk dressing gown over pale pink cotton pyjamas. Her feet were bare, with both her toenails and fingernails were painted a deep blood red. She smiled at Cosette in a friendly, welcoming manner, that did a better job at putting her at ease than Courfeyrac's flirtatious grin.

"To a degree," the blond man said, folding his arms over his chest. "We ended up with an extra."

"I told you," the woman said, "When I gathered you the information, I told you she had a shadow."

"I am _not_ her shadow," Grantaire grumbled. "I pay half the rent on that house. We're _housemates_."

"I didn't realise he would come with her, that's all," the blond man shrugged.

"Would you rather have left him to a hoard of Squalidus demons?" Éponine challenged. "Come on, Enjolras, that's harsh."

"I think I'm losing my mind," Cosette whispered to Grantaire.

"We can't hang about here for too long," the blond man, Enjolras, said, rather than acknowledging what Éponine had just said.

"No, because they're definitely tracking her," Musichetta said with a nod. "Or that's what I'd expect them to do, if they're anything near competent. Don't worry, Enjolras, I'll make sure to cleanse the place once you've left so they can't trace her. Have you left a car?" She turned and began to pad across the room towards the counter. She walked around it.

"Yeah," Courfeyrac said, fishing in his pocket and producing a key.

"Stolen, I assume?" Musichetta said. Courfeyrac nodded and threw the key across the room. She caught it deftly and tucked it into the pocket of her dressing gown. "I'll dispose of it later," she said. "What are you all waiting for?"

Enjolras strode towards the stairs and reached them just as Musichetta began to climb them. He was closely followed by Courfeyrac. Éponine hung back. She nodded at the stairs. "Go on," she said. "I'll follow."

Grantaire helped Cosette up the stairs. The stairs levelled out into a loft room. There was a large double bed up against one wall with a flowery duvet all on it, and a dressing table covered in all sorts of little glass bottles, tubs and bowls. There were odd symbols daubed over the walls in various colours and patchwork rugs thrown over the uneven floorboards. Across the back wall, next to the bed, was a small door painted white. Musichetta was crouched in front of it, dressing gown pooling on the floor around her. Cosette edged closer, dragging Grantaire with her. Musichetta had her hands pressed against the floor, palms facing downwards. Cosette could just about make out the sounds of the woman murmuring softly under her breath, and the floor beneath them began to tremble.

Musichetta lifted her head and twisted her neck to look at them. Something very odd had happened to her face – her eyes were glowing yellow, and her skin had taken on an almost green hue. "It's ready," she said, in a distant, echoing voice that didn't sound entirely like hers.

"Thanks, Musichetta," Enjolras said, and slowly, Musichetta straightened up. Those odd, glowing eyes were not blinking, and were just staring. She stepped out of the way, and Enjolras strode forward and put his hand on the doorknob. He twisted it and pulled the door open. Beyond it was what looked like silvery, swirling mist. He glanced over his shoulder, face expressionless, and then stepped into the mist and promptly vanished.

Cosette gasped. Grantaire's hand tightened on her waist.

"It always amuses me when humans see magic in action for the first time," Courfeyrac beamed, walking backwards towards the door. As he passed Musichetta, he reached out to pat her on the shoulder. "Until next time, 'Chetta. I'll send Joly your love, all right?" And then he was gone as well.

Éponine nudged them with her shoulder. "You next," she said.

"What – what is it?" Grantaire asked, looking apprehensive.

"It's just a door," Éponine said, unhelpfully. "I promise you it's safe, though. You just walk through it. But you can only go through once at a time so you'll have to let go of each other."

"Let me go first," Grantaire murmured, releasing her. She noticed he still held the gun in his hand, and as he stepped forward, he held it a little bit tighter, properly, like he was preparing to shoot at any given moment. She swallowed. She hated the moment that he slipped into the swirling mist and wanted to shout him to come back.

"Come on, it's probably draining Musichetta to keep this open," Éponine said, more than a little impatient.

Cosette stepped forwards. Her legs ached and it felt hard to move, but somehow, she kept on going. She was right on the edge of the door. She could reach out and touch the mist if she wanted to – test the waters, maybe – but then something shoved her from behind and she fell forwards.

She didn't know what she'd expected it to feel like, but it wasn't _this_. She'd thought it might feel cold, but instead it felt unbearably hot for a few seconds, her skin itching like she desperately needed to tear her clothes off her body. Her eyes were watering. Then she was thudding into the ground, a little shriek escaping her mouth.

"Fuck, _Cosette_, what happened?" Grantaire was there, helping her to her feet. She looked up just in time to see Éponine step neatly through what looked like an exact replica of the door they'd just come through – only the mist on the other side was gold instead of silver, and they definitely weren't in Musichetta's shop anymore.

Instead, they were in a large room with white walls. There were many doors set into the walls, all different sizes and made from different woods, some painted bright colours, some not. One of the walls had a large archway in it, which led into a different corridor.

"I had to push her," Éponine said. "She wasn't moving."

"She's fucking _hurt_," Grantaire snapped.

Cosette flapped her hands at him. "It doesn't matter," she said. "Where are we?"

"Our compound," Courfeyrac called, stretching his arms above his head. "Ah, it feels good to be home, doesn't it?"

Enjolras ignored him and instead narrowed his eyes at her. "We need to get you to a healer," he said. "Then –"

"You can tell us what the hell is going on," Grantaire supplied for him.

Enjolras scowled. "Not just yet."

Grantaire matched his scowl with one that was equally as ferocious. "You said –"

"Maybe," a calm, soothing voice cut in, "You two should take a few moments to calm down before the situation escalates. Enjolras, you should probably go and heal that wound on your head – Éponine, go with him. Courfeyrac…"

Courfeyrac turned to grin at the newcomer. He was another man – tall, broad-shouldered but slim, with a somewhat plain face sporting rectangular glasses and a mop of sandy hair.

The man cleared his throat. "You just make yourself scarce," he suggested. "I believe Bahorel's been baking cookies today."

Courfeyrac scampered off without further question, and Enjolras loped off after him. Éponine moved, too, but her walk was slower. Cosette realised the other woman had a limp.

"Can you heal your leg yourself?" the man asked, looking down at Éponine as she passed him in the archway. His face was very soft as he looked at her.

"Of course I can," Éponine muttered shortly, not looking at him as she passed.

Behind them, there was a slamming sound. Cosette jumped and spun on the spot – the door they had just come through was now closed. Grantaire, meanwhile, didn't budge an inch, instead staring at the unfamiliar man with a wary look on his face.

"My name is Combeferre," the man said. "I know you are Cosette," he continued, smiling in her direction. "But I'm afraid I don't know who you are…"

"Grantaire." Grantaire's response was short and harsh. "I'm her housemate."

"Ah." Combeferre nodded. "You have a gun. Is it yours?"

"I took it off Éponine," Grantaire said. "And I'm not letting go of it."

Combeferre had an understanding expression on his face. "I think I know why, but you must know you are not in any danger here," he said. "Not tonight, at least, and certainly not from any inhabitants of this building."

"I don't give a particular shit," Grantaire said, with a shrug. "I'm keeping it. And I stay with her until I know what's going on."

Combeferre bowed his head. "I can see there will be no persuading you," he said. "So I'll agree to those terms. Now, if you'd like to come with me –"

"I want to know what's going on," Grantaire interrupted.

"I'm sure you do," Combeferre said. "But, let's be reasonable about this."

Grantaire quirked his eyebrows. "How am I being unreasonable?" he said. "I'm sorry, but myself and my friend have just been dragged to who the fuck knows where by a bunch of people with guns and you think I'm being unreasonable?"

"No," Combeferre said. "Actually, I think you're being quite calm compared to how things could be going. You could have shot me by now, but you haven't, which is a bonus as far as I'm concerned. However, by _reasonable_ I meant that you're going to be very tired, you've had a shock, and both of you are injured. I'll also hazard a guess that you haven't eaten in a while and will need food soon…"

"So what are you saying?" Grantaire said.

"I'm suggesting that you take one night to have your wounds seen to, bathe, eat our food, and then sleep," Combeferre said. "You can have your answers first thing in the morning."

Grantaire was shaking his head but Cosette answered for them both. "That sounds fine," she said.

"Cosette –" Grantaire began, but she shook her head.

"No, Grantaire," she said firmly. "I am in a lot of pain, I'm very tired, and I _am_ hungry. I don't think my brain can process anything else today. I just need..." She felt horribly close to starting to cry, and Grantaire seemed to realise this because he suddenly backed off, his face smoothing out from being severe to being quite gentle.

"If you both follow me, I will take you to our resident healer," Combeferre said, smiling. He turned and began to walk through the archway, and down the corridor. Cosette reached down to wrap her fingers around Grantaire's, and together, they began to follow him.

OOO

The 'resident healer' turned out to be a man named Joly. He was thin, dark-haired, wide-eyed, and took them to a small, cramped room with walls lined with shelves. On those shelves were lots of bottles and tubs and bowls reminiscent of Musichetta's dressing table. There was a desk against one wall, with papers and books neatly stacked upon its surface, and a couple of metal chairs were in the centre. There was a cot in the corner, with blue blankets folded neatly at the foot.

"Please, sit down," he said, gesturing towards the chairs. "My, my, you do look like you've been through the wars!"

"They were attacked by Squalidus demons," Combeferre filled in.

"I hate Squalidus demons," Joly said in a pleasant voice, rooting through a walk-in cupboard. He emerged with a pile of what looked like clothes – two grey things, and two white things, heaped on top of each other. He paused and stared at them contemplatively. "I can see that one of you is more obviously injured than the other," he said. "Would you like me to see to…Sorry, I don't know your name," he apologised.

"I'm Cosette and this is Grantaire," Cosette said. It was nice to sit down, she thought, even if the chair was hard and uncomfortable.

"And in answer to your question, help Cosette first," Grantaire said.

"Okay," Joly said, giving them a grin. "Just wait a moment."

He put the pile of clothes down on the desk and crouched in front of her. He reached out and put his hands on her head and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were glowing a brighter blue than they had been before. His hands were cool at first touch, but then got colder and colder until it felt like he was holding blocks of ice against her cheeks.

She just felt like pulling away when he let go of her. "Right," he murmured. "I see what I'm dealing with."

Then he whirled away, back into the cupboard, and emerged with a blue gown. "I'm going to need you to change," he said, handing her the gown. "I'll need to be able to access your injuries properly." He straightened up and stared around the room, turning in a circle. "I, ah, seem to have misplaced my screen," he said, with a small frown.

At that moment, a bald man wandered past and called in, "I think Bahorel and Feuilly borrowed it."

Then he disappeared again.

Joly muttered under his breath. "Um, unfortunately, Cosette, you might have to get changed in the cupboard," he said, apologetically. "Unless you don't mind getting changed here. I won't look – I'll even turn my back –"

"I can deal with the cupboard," Cosette said, easing herself to her feet. "I'll be back in a second."

Once she had changed into the gown – and it was relief to get out of her sticky, bloodied clothes and get the fabric off her wounds – she went back into the room. Grantaire was drinking from a plastic beaker with a disgusted expression on his face.

In the next fifteen minutes, Joly had picked out glass from her wounds with a pair of tweezers, and then slapped a variety of different coloured pastes onto her legs and arms and hands and neck, wherever she had any cuts. All of the pastes smelled different and the resulting stench was not a pleasant one at all. It felt incredibly uncomfortable, and only served to feel more tired than she had done before. She was instructed to sit there and watch as Grantaire (who had put on the gown whilst she was treated) was covered in the same collection of pastes. He had less of them on his skin, though, because he had fewer injuries.

Whilst she watched, she was instructed to drink a pale pink liquid from another plastic beaker. It looked pleasant enough, but tasted like roast beef and burnt toast. It helped to take away some of the wooziness in her head and the ache that was deep set into her bones.

After half an hour, Joly ushered them down the corridor and into a shower block. All of the showers were separated into cubicles, and he left them there with the piles of clothes.

Cosette had never been more grateful to shower before, immensely enjoying the constant stream of hot water over her aching limbs. The paste washed away, and she was amazed to find that all of her cuts had shrunk to no more than tiny red pinpricks, and the bruises little dark dots. She still ached a little, but by the time the shower was done she felt a lot more relaxed. She dressed in the clothes provided for her, wished she had shoes or even just a pair of socks, and found Grantaire waiting outside the shower cubicle, sat on the floor next to the sinks. He, too, had been given a white T-shirt and a pair of grey jogging pants. His were a little too tight, whilst hers were a little too baggy. She wondered whether they'd put on the wrong set, but then he was up on his feet and hugging her.

"You look more like Cosette now," he murmured into her damp hair. "Shit, Cosette, I don't know _what_ is going on but I am going to help us through this –"

"We both are," she corrected. "Both of us."

There was a knock on the door. It was Joly. "Hello," he said, cheerfully. "If you're both feeling up to it, we've prepared you some food. Nothing fancy, just some sandwiches, but…"

"That sounds lovely," Cosette said, linking arms with Grantaire, and shooting him a look that definitely said _keep quiet_.

OOO

The kitchen was down a flight of stairs. The kitchen was all steel surfaces and sleek lines, with a black tiled floor.

Courfeyrac was sat at the island in the middle, munching on cookies, and the sounds of cello came from a radio on one of the counters.

"Hel_lo_," Courfeyrac said, waggling crumb-coated fingers in their direction. "You two look a lot happier than when I last saw you."

There was a crash at the far end of the kitchen and a door banged open. A man barrelled out. He was tall, well over six feet and probably nearing seven if Cosette had to guess. He had dark eyes and high cheekbones, and a shock of blue-black hair. He was wearing a blue apron dusted with what looked like flour.

"Sandwiches," he said, pointing to the island. Two plates, bearing a sandwich each, sat at the far end, near Courfeyrac and his plate of cookies. "Just cheese, because I don't know what you like but I thought, hey, everyone likes cheese." He paused, bracing his hands on the edge of the island. "You do like cheese, right?"

"I'm so hungry I'd probably eat a horse right now," Cosette said, trying to give him a reassuring smile.

"I'm sure I could manage that," the man said. "My name is Bahorel, by the way."

"And he's joking," Joly said hastily. "He doesn't feed us horse."

"No, but I do have some crocodile if you fancy it," Bahorel said.

Cosette sat on one of the stools, and Bahorel pushed the plates closer to her. Grantaire sat on her other side.

She hadn't realised just how hungry she was until she took her first bite. It wasn't a particularly special sandwich, but it tasted like heaven, and she devoured the whole thing in a matter of minutes. Bahorel had an amused expression on his face when she was done, and Courfeyrac slid the cookies towards her.

Grantaire was picking at his sandwich, a habit she'd seen from him before when he was having a bad day. He'd pulled the crusts off and was nibbling at them, nose wrinkled. His hands were also shaking, and she knew why.

Sighing, she reached out and pulled the crusts out of his hands. "Aren't you hungry?" she murmured.

"I don't feel like eating," he said. "I just…"

"At least try to eat the actual sandwich," she suggested, pointing at the main body of the sandwich that lay discarded on the plate. "Rather than just the crusts." She dropped the crusts onto the plate as she spoke and gave him a rather pointed look.

He sighed. "You're not going to let me leave until I eat something, are you?" he said.

"Nope," she confirmed, helping herself to a cookie and biting into it. It was good – crunchy on the inside but gooey and soft in the middle, with more chocolate chips than actual cookie. It was the type of biscuit she aspired to bake but never quite pulled off. "These are _good_," she said, licking some stray chocolate off her lower lip.

"Thanks," Bahorel said, smugly. "Took me a while to perfect the recipe."

"Can I have it?" Cosette said, taking another bite. "I think my father would love these."

Grantaire let out a huff and threw down the remainder of his sandwich. "If you ever see him again," he muttered.

"I will," Cosette said, refusing to look at him. "Just eat your sandwich. Then you can have a cookie. I swear, they're almost better than sex."

Bahorel's grin grew wider, and more pleased. Courfeyrac broke off a bit of his cookie and threw it at Bahorel's head.

"She said _almost_," Courfeyrac said.

"Almost is good enough for me," Bahorel said happily. "Now, I'm going to go and finish cleaning out the fridge."

Grantaire only had a few other mouthfuls before he declared himself full. Cosette didn't believe him, but short of shoving the sandwich down his throat there wasn't much she could do.

"Where should I put these?" she said, lifting the plates.

"Oh, leave them," Courfeyrac said. "Bahorel will deal with it. He's cleaning anyway."

He slid off his stool. "We only prepared one room," he said. "After all, we only expected one guest. But I think Combeferre has made up a bed on the floor for you, Grantaire, if you don't mind sleeping…"

"The floor is fine," Grantaire said shortly.

The room that Courfeyrac showed them into was soulless, just concrete walls and concrete floors with a metal cabinet and a metal bed in the corner with green sheets on it. Sure enough, there was a bed on the floor, too; a quick prod from Grantaire told them it was an airbed.

"Well, I'll see you in the morning," Courfeyrac said, beaming. He had chocolate around his mouth, Cosette noticed with amusement. "Then you'll have your…ah, _explanation_. I hope you have a good night's sleep."

"Thank you," Cosette said, as he shut the door and left them to it.

She clambered into her bed. The mattress was hard and the top blanket was rough and itchy, but the one beneath it was soft enough. She crawled beneath them and pulled them up to her chin.

Grantaire shucked his T-shirt off and let it drop to the ground at his feet. He yawned. "You all right, Cosette?" he said, walking over to the light switch by the door. He paused a moment and frowned at the door itself. "Huh, no lock," he murmured.

"I'm just really, really tired," she whispered. She saw that the gun he'd taken from Éponine was in his pocket, the handle hanging out. She wondered if that was a safe place for a gun, but just hoped Grantaire knew what he was dealing with. "I kind of hope I'll wake up tomorrow and it's all just been a horrible, horrible dream."

"Yeah," Grantaire said, flicking off the switch. She heard his feet padding over the floor and then the rustle of fabric as he climbed into bed. The room was completely dark with no windows to let any light in. "We can hope, right?" he said after a few moments, but there was no conviction in it.

Instead of responding, she closed her eyes and fell asleep with in minutes, her body no longer able to resist sleep.


	3. Answers

**Three**

**_Answers_**

Cosette woke the next morning to find herself staring at pale grey, concrete walls. Her heart sank. It had not been a dream, not any of it; the ache deep in her bones was a testament to that. Her head felt fuzzy, like she hadn't slept enough and had slept too much all at once, and her eyelids felt like there was sand beneath them every time she blinked.

Grantaire was sat cross-legged on the airbed, the blankets pooled around him but tucked over his knees. The gun lay on the bed in front of him, and he was just staring at it.

"That man from last night just came in," Grantaire said, his voice muted and somewhat distracted. "The one with the glasses. We've been asked to eat breakfast, and then we'll be filled in on what's happening."

"Grantaire," Cosette said, softly, swinging her legs out of bed. She crouched on the bed next to him. The bed appeared to have deflated over night, so there wasn't much to actually crouch on, and she could feel the hard concrete beneath her knees. "Are you all right?"

She put her hand on his shoulder. He shook his head, raven black curls bouncing. "Not really," he said. "We shouldn't _be_ here, Cosette. I don't like this. I don't like any of it." He dug the heel of his hand into his eye, a small groan of frustration escaping his throat. "I think we should try and leave."

"Let's see what they want, first," she suggested. "This is serious. We were attacked last night, and these people seem to think they can protect us. Let's find out what's going on, then we can work something out from there." She wrapped her arm around his shoulders and squeezed him, pressing her mouth against his neck.

The door opened all of a sudden, and an unfamiliar man burst in.

Cosette pulled away from Grantaire.

"Oh – sorry – shit, I'm sorry, I should have knocked," the man said, freckled cheeks flooding with red. He was tall and lanky, a little too skinny, blue eyed with messy, pale brown hair with a reddish hue to it. He was good looking in a cute, almost baby-faced way, but she tracked her eyes over his body and saw the strength behind the lankiness, and his _hands_, God, he had big hands and she'd always _liked_ big hands.

She realised too late that she was staring, and the man's blush had become even darker.

"What did you want?" Grantaire said, a tad rudely.

The man stepped backwards. "Combeferre asked me to come and take you to breakfast," he said. "He's busy, and he wasn't sure you'd be able to find your way and I'm really sorry, I should have knocked."

"Yeah, you should have," Grantaire said, getting to his feet. He held out his hand to Cosette and pulled her into a standing position. "We don't even have any fucking socks," Grantaire muttered under his breath.

"I can get you some socks," the man said. "I mean, I don't – I don't actually have any socks on me right now, but, I'm sure we could arrange some socks for you."

"We're fine for the moment," Cosette said, not wanting the man to become any more flustered than he already was. "What's your name? I'm Cosette."

"I know," the man said. "I mean – everyone knows who you are."

Grantaire ducked down to pick up the gun and put it in his pocket. Cosette spared him a glance, then turned her attentions back to the other man in front of her.

"This is Grantaire," she added, gesturing at the man in question. She stepped forward, careful not to let her feet become tangled with the blankets, and snared Grantaire's wrist as she passed him, pulling him forwards.

"Marius," the man said, stepping out of the room and then to one side so that they could leave as well. He pulled the door shut behind them. "My name's Marius."

They walked in a somewhat uncomfortable silence through the network of corridors. On the way, they passed the bald man they had seen the night before (Marius greeted him with a quick, "Good morning, Bossuet"), and Éponine, who managed a bright, wide smile for Marius as they walked past him.

The kitchen was a flurry of activity when they arrived.

Bahorel was there, twirling from the stove to the island with a frying pan, sliding what looked like pancakes onto waiting plates. Courfeyrac was spinning on a stool, singing along to the radio. Joly was crushing something in a mortar, swinging his hips in time to the music. The blond man from the night before – Enjolras, was it? – was rifling through a pile of papers, whilst Combeferre stood behind him.

There were also two more people there that Cosette hadn't seen before, both men. One was a fairly short, but sturdy looking man with dark hair, the curls cropped close to his head. He was sweeping up what looked like flour, but he was sweeping in time to the music resonating throughout the room. The other man was sat beside Courfeyrac, swinging his legs; he was slim, pretty, with big hazel eyes, and wavy auburn hair. She recognised the flowery jumper that he was wearing as being one she owned herself, but his was far too big for him, the extra material swamping his slender frame.

All of the men were grinning hugely, aside from Enjolras and Combeferre who were fixed on reading the papers in front of them, and looking rather serious about it to boot.

As they entered, Combeferre looked up and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Good morning," he said, and effectively ended all of the activity in the room until the only thing that was anywhere near motion was the music playing.

The dark-haired man stopped sweeping to rest his arm on top of his broom, and Courfeyrac winked at her. She felt Grantaire's hand at the small of her back.

"Stop gawping," Enjolras commanded with a small roll of his eyes, placing his hand over the top of the papers in front of him. "It's almost as if none of you have seen a female before."

Cosette felt her face heat up.

Bahorel was the first to move, nudging the dark-haired man and his broom out of the way. "Pancakes!" he said, pointing enthusiastically at the plates. "You two like pancakes, right?"

"I love pancakes," Cosette said, stepping forwards and slipping onto the stool. She pulled one of the plates towards her, and Bahorel pressed a knife and fork into her hands.

"There's the pancake shit," Bahorel said, gesturing towards a selection of condiments in the middle of the table. She spotted butter and syrup and lemon juice and sugar and some fruity syrups and some chunks of fresh fruit; she set about scooping a knob of butter onto her pancakes as Grantaire sat down next to her.

She looked up from spooning some of the golden syrup onto her pancakes to see that she was still being watched by some of the men. She paused, pushing the pot of syrup back towards the centre of the island.

Then she braced her elbows on the table and held the knife and fork in one hand, whilst reaching across the island towards the man in the flowery jumper, who was more or less sat in front of her. "Cosette," she said.

"Jehan," the man replied, shaking her hand. His grip was firm.

"I'm Feuilly," the dark-haired man chipped in, appearing at the other end of the island and propping the broom against the edge.

"This is Grantaire," Cosette said, smearing the syrup over the pancake's surface with the flat edge of her knife.

Grantaire made a short noise under his breath and stabbed at his plain pancake with his fork. Cosette didn't need to look to know that this action had garnered some raised eyebrows from the other men in the room, but she ignored him, instead slicing into her pancakes and taking a bite.

Pancakes had been a comfort food for her when she was little – they were what her father made for her when she was very tired or not feeling very well or, memorably, when she got her first period and neither of them had really known how to feel about it. These pancakes were possibly a little nicer than the ones she'd had as a child, as her father always had a habit for accidentally burning them around the edges, and they never seemed cooked through, but she found herself yearning for her father's less-than-perfect attempts.

Scratch that, she thought to herself, licking some stray syrup off the back of the knife; she just wanted her father to be there. Grantaire was always good to have around, and she loved him, but there was something slightly sinister in the way he was chopping up his pancakes.

"Right," Grantaire burst out, setting down his knife and fork. "I'm sure that these pancakes are lovely, really, but when are we going to get some _fucking_ answers about what the _fuck_ is going on? Because I'm really losing my patience with the whole situation."

Cosette had just placed a rather large forkful of pancake into her mouth and promptly almost choked on it. "_Grantaire_," she managed to splutter around the food, but he shot her a glare.

"No," he said. "Don't give me that look, Fauchelevent. _No_."

She managed to swallow, and opened her mouth to shoot something back at him. She only became _Fauchelevent_ when he was annoyed at her, the same way she referred to him by his first name when she was annoyed at him.

"We're demons," Enjolras said, and all thoughts of what she was about to say flew out of her mind at his words. She turned to stare at him, her eyes as wide as saucers.

"Yeah," Grantaire murmured under his breath, "I had a feeling you might say something like that."

"Demons?" Cosette echoed. "Like…What? Demons? Are you being serious?"

"Unfortunately, Cosette, I think they're being very serious," Grantaire said, spearing a piece of pancake with his fork and putting it in his mouth.

Cosette felt sick. Her pancakes were in danger of coming back up her throat at this rate.

"That's…that's impossible," she said.

"And yet, here we are," Enjolras said, gesturing at all of his friends. "Think about what you saw last night." She did – she thought of the odd creatures, the green goo exploding from under their skin, Musichetta's glowing eyes and the mysterious door, and the way Joly's pastes reduced her injuries to more or less nothing at all. "Now, thinking on all that, are you going to tell me it's impossible?" Enjolras finished.

She put her head in her hands.

"To be fair, it could be entirely possible that we're figments of Cosette's imagination," Jehan piped up, spinning on his chair.

"We're not, though," Enjolras said, patiently.

"How would you _know_, though?" Courfeyrac chipped in. "If we're figments of her imagination –"

"Let's not confuse the poor girl any further," Bahorel said. "Cosette, would you like a cup of tea? You're looking a little peaky…"

"She'd love one," Grantaire answered for her. "Lots of milk, two sugars, but leave the teabag to stew for a little longer than normal. Thanks."

"So demons…Demons exist," Cosette mumbled through her hands.

"Yes," Combeferre replied.

"Demons." Cosette lifted her head, her mouth still pressed against her hands.

"We exist, but not necessarily in the biblical angels and demons way you might be thinking," Enjolras explicated. "In our sense, _demon _refers to any magical being. There are lots of different races _of_ demon…"

"Some are synonymous to ones from human folklore," Combeferre added. "There are demons who closely resemble your lore's witches and vampires and shapeshifters."

"The important thing to remember, though, is that we're not _all_ evil," Courfeyrac piped up. "There are good and bad demons, just like there are good and bad humans –"

"And some demon races typically fall under one category more than the other," Feuilly said. "But even then you can find _good_ demons in the so-called _bad_ races and vice-versa."

"Combeferre, for example," Enjolras said, waving a hand in the general direction of Combeferre. The man in question slid his glasses up his nose. "Combeferre is the type of demon you would probably call a _vampire_, and typically, they tend to be more hardwired to be 'evil', so to speak, but Combeferre is not."

"You're a vampire?" Cosette said, incredulous.

"I don't like the term," Combeferre said. "But I do have to ingest blood to survive, yes."

"Not your blood," Joly hastened to add. "Combeferre gets his blood from blood banks."

"I don't drink from living beings," Combeferre said.

"Well, that's something, I suppose," Grantaire said, a touch of sarcasm to his voice. He spoke around a mouthful of pancakes.

"So – uh – demons…Demons exist," Cosette said. "And you're all demons? All of you?"

"In a nutshell, yes," Enjolras said.

"But…" Cosette pursed her lips. Bahorel placed a mug of steaming tea in front of her and she murmured a _thank you_ before continuing her question. "What – what does that have to do with me?"

Enjolras glanced at Combeferre, who bowed his head. Enjolras began to speak. "The demons have their own realm," he said. "Their own world. And that world is governed by the Demon King."

Joly made a small spitting noise at the back of his throat. It was clearly a noise of distaste, and Cosette spared him a glance before turning back to Enjolras.

"The Demon King resides in a specific area of the demon realm known as the Demon Court," Enjolras continued. "Our current king – he's been on the throne for about fifty years – is not…He's not a _good_ king. The race the royal family is a part of is a typically _good_ race, and mostly, they've been good kings. But he's an exception."

"And by good king, you mean…" Cosette bit her lip.

"He's cruel," Enjolras said. "He abuses his people. The demons who live in the demon realm live in poverty, and are starving. He doesn't care about his people anywhere. Those who had their suspicions in the early part of his reign fled to live in the human world, where he has less reach, but even _that_ isn't much of a protection these days. He's out of control. People fear for their lives."

"Get to the point," Grantaire said. "I mean, this is all interesting, but it hasn't got anything to do with Cosette so far."

"The King wants a bride," Enjolras said, shooting Grantaire a dark frown. "And for some reason – a reason we're not sure of – he's decided he wants Cosette as his bride."

Cosette pressed her face in to her hands again.

"Why Cosette?" Grantaire asked. She heard the sound of metal against china and when she looked she saw he'd put down his knife and fork again.

"We just said, we don't know," Enjolras said. "She's – well, she's just a human girl. We don't know how she's caught his interest, but she has."

"So last night…" Grantaire said. "Those creatures – were they sent to collect Cosette?"

"Yes," Enjolras said.

"But you stopped them," Grantaire said. "Why?"

"We actively oppose the Demon King and all he stands for," Combeferre said. "We've been working against him for many years – giving refuge to those escaping the Demon Court, helping to set them up in the human world, providing protection when the King's men come to visit – and that includes humans, because the King's men _love_ abusing humans as sport. So, when one of our spies in the Demon Court told us of the King's plans involving Cosette, we decided it was our job to get there first and bring Cosette here, where we could provide her proper protection."

"What might have been easier would be knocking on her door and _telling_ her this," Grantaire said.

"No, you see, there were protective barriers on her house, specifically blocking demons from entering the house; basically, it meant that we couldn't go within six feet of the house's perimeter," Courfeyrac said. "It had us stumped for a while. They were strong barriers, too. The Squalidus demons sent were working for ages to break down the barriers, just as we had been, and unfortunately they broke through first when we happened to be on a short coffee break."

"Why would there be protective barriers on my _house_?" Cosette demanded.

"For your protection, presumably," Grantaire said.

"Yes, but _who_ would have done it?" Cosette looked at him, feeling desperate.

"Don't look at me," Grantaire said. "I'm just as human as you are."

"There were also barriers around you," Combeferre said. "Stopping any demons from coming within twenty feet of you."

"I managed to break that one just before we took our break," Courfeyrac said, looking a little sheepish. "Hence the decision for a break – you know, to celebrate."

Grantaire fixed him with a very hard look, but before any more could be said, Enjolras spoke. "We plan on protecting Cosette," he said, slowly. "In that sense, our aims are the same, Grantaire. You can work with us."

Grantaire turned his head to look at the blond man.

"You're asking me to trust you," he surmised.

Combeferre nodded. "In a sense, yes. We appreciate that this is a difficult situation, but –"

"Look." Grantaire rested his elbows on the tabletop and linked his fingers together. "Me, not trusting you – that's nothing personal. I don't trust _anyone_. Cosette will tell you. Now, the problem is, Cosette, by nature, is a very trusting person. She's too kind for her own good sometimes. That means it's _my_ job to be the wary one."

Cosette nudged him with her shoulder. "I am _not_ too kind for my own good," she muttered.

"Yes, you are, sweetheart," Grantaire replied, not looking at her. His eyes were still fixed on Enjolras. To his credit, the other man met Grantaire's dark look without flinching. "I'm not having a go at you, Cosette. It's one of the best things about you, even if it is also the most potentially problematic at times – anyway, the point I was trying to make _is_, I am going to allow you to look after Cosette. I'm going to be completely honest with you here…"

"Please," Combeferre said. "I think complete honesty on both sides would be best."

"I'm going to wager that you have enough weapons in this building for a small army," Grantaire said. "I am one man with a gun. _I_ know what I'm doing, but I'm also not stupid enough to think that myself and one gun could take on the lot of you, especially considering that you're all demons and I would have one completely untrained person in tow. So I have no chance of breaking out here. Not at the minute, anyway – so for that reason, I'm going to…" He pulled a face before continuing. "I'm going to _trust_ you to look after Cosette."

"Don't I get a say in this?" Cosette muttered.

Grantaire ignored her. "But as I said before, it's my _job_ to be wary," he said. "So my trust only stretches so far. The minute I get inkling that something is wrong…"

"You'll do whatever it takes to get Cosette out," Combeferre guessed. "Which is fair enough. We were also going to propose that Cosette be trained to fight in case the situation arises where we – or you – are not around to protect her."

"Fight?" Cosette raised her eyebrows, and glanced at Grantaire. He gave her a small wink in response, and the wink was enough to comfort her slightly.

"Is that enough _answers_ for you?" Enjolras asked, quirking his eyebrows.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "It'll do for now, Apollo," he said, and Cosette had to suppress a snort. The other men – or was the correct term demons, now? She had no idea – were not good enough to hide their amusement and she heard Courfeyrac cackle loudly and Jehan giggle, and a booming laugh she assumed belonged to Bahorel came from somewhere behind her.

She tipped her head up to look at Grantaire and mouthed, "Apollo?"

She got no response, so she looked back to Enjolras. He was tucking the papers he had in front of him into a red file, and she swore she could see the faintest of pink blushes over his high cheekbones.

"I think our conversation here is done," he said, placing the file under his arm before sliding off his stool and walking briskly out of the kitchen.

OOO

Days went by slowly.

Cosette and Grantaire voluntarily spent their days confined to their room, leaving to eat and to shower.

Feuilly, who was apparently a 'maker demon', made them lots of clothes on their second day. He lamented to them the fact he was usually relegated to creating their weapons when he preferred to make more artistic things. Cosette had been amazed watching him take swathes of fabric and watching them mould into perfectly shaped clothes before her eyes. There were no seams to these clothes; Feuilly's magic allowed him to force the fabric to fuse together. He added details with threads and beads and buttons afterwards, the needles controlled by more magic. Cosette was fascinated and stayed with him an entire afternoon as he crafted wardrobes for herself and Grantaire.

Grantaire was not as interested in this display as she was, but he had other things to occupy him as he waited with her; Jehan popped by the same morning with lots of different books for them to read, and Grantaire sat with his head buried in a copy of Kafka's _The Trial_ whilst Cosette watched Feuilly's magic needles stitch golden flowers around the collar of a red skater dress.

They saw most people at dinner in the evenings – with the exception of a couple of this little group of demons, dinner was a group event, very loud and busy and often messy, and Cosette often felt like she faded into the background during them.

The only person they talked to on a regular basis outside of mealtimes, however, was Bahorel, who became rather fond of Cosette and her willingness to try any new recipes he had cooked up that day.

He also found Grantaire interesting for very different reasons, those reasons centring Grantaire's snappy tongue.

"I think we need to lock you and Enjolras in a room at some point," Bahorel said, icing cupcakes with pale lavender butter cream.

"No," Grantaire said. "You don't. It would only end with one of us dead."

"Hmm," Bahorel said, licking a splotch of butter cream from his thumb before moving on to the next cupcake. "Which one, though?"

"I'd put my money on Enjolras," Cosette said, eyes twinkling.

"I object to that," Grantaire said. "I could easily take on Enjolras, thank you very much."

"Oh, right," Cosette said, prodding his shoulder. "Like you'd want to damage that face!"

Grantaire rolled his eyes.

Bahorel finished icing a cupcake with a little flourish, and eyed Grantaire speculatively. Then his dark eyes flickered to Cosette. "And that would be because Enjolras is _pretty_, of course?"

"Of course," Cosette agreed. "He's more than pretty."

"Yeah, I think 'beautiful' is nearer to the right term," Grantaire muttered.

Bahorel snorted. "Yeah, Enjolras gets that a lot," he said. "It's his breed. They're…" He snapped his fingers a couple of times. "I can't remember the word for it, but they're all fucking gorgeous. You should see the women. But yeah, Enjolras is pretty hot."

"See, I was beginning to wonder if it was just a demon thing," Cosette admitted, swiping one of the freshly iced cupcakes and licking the icing off the top. "Being attractive, I mean."

"Aw, Cosette." Bahorel batted his eyelashes at her. "You think I'm _attractive_?"

"Yes," Cosette said, unabashed. "I mean, you're not my type, but I'd never deny the fact you were a good-looking guy."

"Wait, I'm not your type?" Bahorel paused, glaring at her. It was hard to take him seriously with a smudge of pale purple butter cream on his cheek.

"Nope, she only dates skinny pretty boys," Grantaire said.

"That's not true," Cosette denied. "Wes wasn't skinny."

"Or pretty," Grantaire said.

"No, he was pretty," Cosette said. "He was very pretty."

"You need your eyes tested," Grantaire said.

"So, if skinny and pretty is your type," Bahorel said, putting down the icing bag, "That would put Enjolras right up there, right?"

"Not really," Cosette said. "He's too pretty."

"Seriously?" Grantaire raised his eyebrows. "_Too_ pretty?"

"Yep," Cosette said. "Way too pretty. I'll leave that to you, R."

Grantaire snorted. "Not interested. I admit he's beautiful, yeah, but his personality –"

"He grows on you," Bahorel interrupted.

"Yeah, and so does fungus," Grantaire said.

Bahorel barked out a laugh. "For that, you can have a cupcake," he said, shoving the tray towards Grantaire.

"Thanks," Grantaire muttered, accepting one.

"So, Cosette." Bahorel braced his hands on the countertop. "Skinny and pretty. Joly?"

Cosette swallowed a mouthful of cupcake and shook her head. "No."

"Hmm." Bahorel chewed on the inside of his mouth. "Fortunate, though, because I think that Musichetta would skin you if you touched him. What about…" He snapped his fingers. "Jehan? I mean, you're barking up the wrong tree, but –"

"Nope," she said.

Bahorel cocked his head to one side. "Well, that only leaves one person, then," he said, a slow grin stretching across his face. "What about Marius?"

Cosette thought about freckles and long limbs and big hands and gave a small shrug. Bahorel pushed off the counter and did a little dance.

"I knew it!" he said.

"Thank God," Grantaire muttered, "I wasn't the only one that noticed the way she blows him with her eyes at dinner."

She threw her empty cupcake case at him, and then nearly fell off her stool when someone spoke behind her.

"Who blows who with their eyes?"

It was Marius. Cosette hadn't realised her face could get that hot but it was. She turned to look at him, nearly falling off her stool again. He was cocking a curious eyebrow in her direction, and his hands, those _hands_ were playing with the braided leather at his wrists.

She swallowed, knowing that behind her Bahorel was trying not to laugh out loud.

"No one," she squeaked.

"Oh." He nodded, slowly, and then said, "Enjolras thinks that your training should begin today, so I've been sent to collect you."

Cosette spun back around to stare at Grantaire.

"Training, huh?" Grantaire wrinkled his nose and shoved the rest of his cupcake into his mouth. "Well, c'mon, Cosette. We wouldn't want to keep Apollo waiting, would we?"

He slid off his stool and she mimicked his actions.

"Does Enjolras want us all there, Marius?" Bahorel asked, grabbing a cloth and swiping it over some stray spots of butter cream.

"He didn't say," Marius said. "But I think everyone is heading over there regardless…"

"Is everyone _so_ eager to see me fail miserably at punching someone?" Cosette asked, quirking her eyebrows at Grantaire.

"I'm sure you won't fail miserably," Marius said kindly.

"Yeah, I agree with him," Grantaire snorted, amused. "I've been one the receiving end of one of your punches, Cosette, and they _hurt_."

"They do not," Cosette denied.

"We'll see," Grantaire replied, throwing an arm around her shoulder. "_They'll _see."


	4. Tensions Rise

**Four**

**_Tensions Rise_**

Marius and Bahorel led them down a flight of stairs to a massive gym. There were punching bags lining the walls, dummies stood upright in the centre of a large blue mat, and what Cosette suspected to be a boxing ring at the far end of the room. At the opposite end were a selection of weights and various different exercise machines, such as treadmills, exercise bikes and a rowing machine.

Everyone that Cosette had met since arriving here was there, but there was something different about all of them. They were all wearing vests or T-shirts with shorts or jogging pants; Bahorel decided to forgo wearing a T-shirt at all, shucking it over his head and throwing it to the side of the room.

Éponine was there, too. Cosette had barely seen the other woman since they had arrived. For whatever reason, she didn't eat with the group in the evenings, pretty much like Combeferre. Combeferre's decision not to eat with them made sense to Cosette, considering he was a vampire (for lack of a better term), but she had never been provided with a reason for why Éponine didn't.

Today, Éponine had her dark hair pulled into a ponytail, and she was wearing a white vest top and short black leggings. She was rolling her eyes at something Courfeyrac was saying, but when she caught sight of them she suddenly smiled brightly.

"Marius!" she said, breaking away from the rest of them and hurrying towards him.

"Hey, 'Ponine," he said.

Éponine threw a punch towards Marius' shoulder. "Want to spar?" she said, sinking into what Cosette presumed was a fighting stance.

"Maybe later," he said, and gestured towards Grantaire and Cosette, who hovered somewhere near the door.

Éponine's eyes slid from Marius to them and her grin faltered a little. "Ah, right," she said.

Bahorel, meanwhile, had Feuilly in a headlock and was hauling him over to the boxing ring, whilst Joly and the bald man (whom Cosette hadn't spoken to much, but she knew he was called Bossuet) were heading over to the treadmills.

Éponine cleared her throat. "Hey, Enjolras," she said. "The humans are here."

Enjolras looked away from his conversation with Combeferre to look over at them.

"Hello," he said. Jehan stepped forwards, a pile of clothes tucked under his arm.

"Feuilly made you some more clothes," he said, walking over to them. Cosette accepted his pile. "The changing rooms are over there."

There was only one changing room, and no cubicles inside. She didn't mind changing in front of Grantaire, as the two of them had seen each other in their underwear countless times, but she had him guard the door whilst she changed in case any of the other demons chanced coming inside.

She also had leggings, like Éponine, but hers were longer, to her ankle, and were grey. The vest top was white. Both items, like all of the other clothes Feuilly had made for her, fit perfectly.

Grantaire had been given plain black jogging pants and a white vest. He donned both quickly and plucked the vest away from his body with distaste.

"This whole idea is shit," he said to her as they left the changing rooms.

"Not really," Courfeyrac piped up, having been hovering near the door. "If she gets caught alone, she needs to be able to defend herself."

"Yeah, I get that," Grantaire said, rolling his eyes, "But I don't see why she needs all of this." He gestured at the demons remaining that had opted not to go and begin training themselves. "Fuck, I'd rather do it myself. At least then I know she's being taught properly."

Courfeyrac opened his mouth to respond but was cut off by Enjolras.

"I'll train you," he said, nodding at Grantaire. "And Marius has volunteered to teach Cosette the basics."

Grantaire raised an eyebrow. "You're teaching me the basics," he said, flatly. "Of what, in particular?"

"Well, we were going to stand with unarmed combat first," Combeferre said. "We fight using a combination of different styles, combining training we have all undertaken separately."

The twist to Grantaire's mouth was almost amused, and Cosette fought back a groan as she realised where this could end up going.

Grantaire gave a lazy, almost casual shrug, and stepped away from the rest of the demons, walking backwards with his eyes fixed on Enjolras.

"Cosette?" Marius was at her shoulder, looking down at her with an uncertain half-smile on his face. "Do you want to...?"

He gestured towards one of the punching bags, but it didn't matter to anyone because Enjolras had approached Grantaire and Grantaire had punched him in the face.

Cosette winced, because she knew that was days of frustration on Grantaire's part all focused into one swing of his arm. Enjolras was, unsurprisingly, floored by the fist to his cheekbone, and he went down like a sack of bricks.

There was movement and stillness all at once; some of the demons lurched forwards as if going to help Enjolras, whilst others actually stopped to watch. Bahorel and Feuilly draped themselves over the ropes around the boxing ring, the former's face amused.

Combeferre was suddenly in between Enjolras and Grantaire, both hands held up with his palms facing outwards. "Leave them to it," he ordered. "Get on with training."

Éponine scowled. Behind Combeferre, Grantaire was bouncing on the balls of his feet, arms and fists raised in front of his face, whilst Enjolras slowly got to his feet.

The taller man stopped and rubbed his jaw, a dark expression on his face. "I'm supposed to be training you," he spat.

In response, Grantaire threw another punch. This one was dodged fairly neatly by Enjolras who brought his hand up to catch Grantaire's fist.

"I don't need training," Grantaire said.

"Just because you can throw a punch –" Enjolras began, but in the blink of an eye Grantaire had done some sort of twist and flipped Enjolras over his shoulder and was pinning him to the ground.

Cosette took a step backwards, bumping into Marius. His hands reached out to steady her, but he didn't move his hands away from her elbows.

"I can do a lot more than just _throw a punch_," Grantaire snapped, having flipped Enjolras onto his front and pinning his arms behind his back. "When I said I was ex-military, _I meant it_."

"Right, can you please get off me?" Enjolras ground out, his face pressing into the ground.

Grantaire slid backwards, releasing Enjolras so he could get to his feet. He stood there, breathing heavily, as Enjolras turned around.

Within seconds, Enjolras had punched Grantaire in the stomach, causing him to double over.

Cosette gasped and stepped forward, but Marius' grip on her elbows suddenly tightened.

"Listen to Combeferre," he advised, in a calm voice. "Leave them to it. Enjolras won't seriously try to hurt Grantaire."

"It's not that I'm worried about," Cosette said. "I don't want Grantaire to lose his temper."

She was too busy now staring up at Marius' face to notice the fight that was going on behind them. Marius looked down at his hands and where they were still cupping Cosette's elbows and he suddenly leaped away like he'd been burned.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" he said, a touch of worry in his voice.

"Of course you didn't," Cosette reassured him, momentarily distracted as Grantaire wrestled Enjolras into a headlock.

"Right. Well." Marius cleared his throat and stepped in front of her, blocking her view of Enjolras and Grantaire completely. He gave her a very pointed look. "Shall we get started on your training?"

She looked around him as Enjolras suddenly staggered into view, knocked by a kick or a punch or _something_ from Grantaire. She bit her lip and nodded. "All right."

OOO

Later on, Grantaire and Cosette sat on the bed in their shared bedroom, exhausted and both feeling a little battered.

Grantaire's scrap with Enjolras hadn't ended particularly well for either of them – by the end of it, both were sporting numerous bruises and some scrapes on their joints, and Grantaire's eye was rapidly swelling whilst Enjolras had blood trickling from one nostril. That in itself was enough to freak out Cosette – not because it was blood, she knew how to deal with blood – but because Enjolras' blood was dark purple and that just looked _strange_.

Cosette had fallen a lot, and her body ached, and she wasn't sure that learning how to throw a punch was her thing _at all_, despite Grantaire's earlier claim that her punches hurt.

Still, Marius had been patient and kind and had laughed off her many mistakes in an attempt to make her feel more comfortable – but that didn't mean she was in any hurry to resume training tomorrow.

Sighing, she tipped her head sideways and rested it on Grantaire's shoulder.

"Do you have to carry on training?" she said, her voice quiet and thick through a yawn she was trying to stifle.

"No," Grantaire said. "Apparently, my skills were deemed 'sufficient'."

He snorted. Cosette turned her head to rest her chin on his shoulder, staring up at the side of his face, seeing the bruise that was beginning to bloom around his eye.

"I think they're more than sufficient," Cosette said. "You both caused serious damage to each other –"

"Yeah, and we were both holding back," Grantaire said. "Now _that's_ a scary thought, isn't it?"

Cosette didn't respond, because in truth, it was pretty scary to think of what sort of damage they would have caused to one another had they both let go completely.

"What about you?" he said, giving her a nudge with his elbow. "Are you all right with Marius? Or do you want me to suggest...?"

"I'm fine with Marius. He's nice." She pursed her lips. "I don't think this whole fighting thing is for me, though."

"Of course it isn't," Grantaire said. "You're Cosette Fauchelevent. You'd rather love people into submission."

"Well, that sounds creepier than I think you meant it to sound," Cosette retorted.

"Marius was careful with you," Grantaire added, and he twisted his head so that they were nose to nose. He waggled his eyebrows.

"Oh, shut up," she grumbled, pulling back and slipping off the bed. "I'm going to go and shower."

She fished a towel from the chest of drawers in the corner along with a simple plain shift dress that she liked to wear in the evenings.

"Whilst you do that, I'm going to take advantage of the fact there's a bed I can sleep in," Grantaire said, flopping down dramatically.

"Yeah, have fun with that," she said. "See you later."

She flicked off the light switch on her way out.

OOO

Éponine had never realised before today how easy it was to take an angry shower.

This was an angry shower, the one she was having, slamming her bottle of shampoo down onto the little shelf so hard that it sounded like the shelf might have cracked. Angry, bitter little words poured out of her mouth in a low mutter as she scrubbed the sweat off her skin with a sponge, obsessing over _everything _that seemed to be going _wrong_.

It was all because of that _stupid_ Cosette girl, with her blonde hair and big eyes and long legs and the way Marius' eyes followed her whenever they were in the same room together. Éponine had been here for _years_ and Marius had never _once_ looked at her like that. Did she have to prance about in little dresses to get attention? And more to that matter, why did Feuilly _make_ Cosette girly flowery shit to wear and then give her plain leggings and fucking T-shirts? Why didn't he make her look pretty, too?

(She conveniently ignored the fact that Feuilly never missed the way Éponine's eyes trailed longingly over fancy dresses when they made trips to the human world, and the Opifex demon _did_ make her dresses and things because of that and she always scathingly returned them with a reminder _dresses aren't practical in a fight_, cutting her nose off to spite her face.)

In frustration, she smacked a hand against the wall of the shower so hard her palm stung, and she felt the familiar itch beneath her skin as her other self leaped forward to protect her from the pain.

She had to breathe, breathe hard and deep – it would do to change in the middle of a shower cubicle – but filed away the itching of her skin as a reminder she needed to get out and change soon. Closing her eyes, she reached out to switch off the shower and stood for a few minutes, just letting the water drip off her body.

She reached out for the towel hanging on the back of the cubicle door, just out of the way of the shower's spray, and wrapped it around herself. Now that the shower was off, she could hear the sound of someone brushing their teeth and water running from one of the taps in the sinks.

Tucking the towel together beneath her armpit, she scraped back the lock and stepped out into the main bathroom, steeling herself to deal with whoever it was that was out there.

It was Cosette, and that felt like a blow to the stomach all by itself. The itching returned, this time beneath the flesh of her legs too. She amended her earlier mental note to include a visit to Bossuet to see if he wanted to get out soon.

Cosette caught sight of her in the mirror above the sinks. "Hello," Cosette said, her voice shy through a mouthful of toothpaste. She gave an apologetic grimace and spat into the sink, wiping the back of her hand over her mouth.

Éponine grunted, ducking back into the steamy shower cubicle to retrieve her toiletry bag and snatching the shampoo off the shelf to put away.

"How are you?" Cosette asked, tone conversational, rinsing the toothbrush under the tap.

Éponine looked up from where she was trying to stuff the shampoo bottle into the already overflowing bag. She swore as her hand slipped  
on the zip and the bag flung out of her hands, slamming into the tiled floor and sending its contents spinning into every conceivable direction.

"Oh, no," Cosette said. She was on her knees collecting things before Éponine could even move. "Did the bag split?"

"No," Éponine said, shortly, not wanting to crouch down considering she was only wearing a towel. "You don't have to –"

"I don't mind," Cosette said.

"No, I mean it," Éponine snapped. "Stop it."

Cosette sat back on her haunches, a small bottle of mouthwash, Éponine's toothpaste, her conditioner and a box of dental floss collected in her hands. She got to her feet slowly, considering that she had no hands free to push herself up off the floor.

"I was just trying to help," Cosette said. Her voice was calm and soothing and Éponine's other half responded to it better than Éponine would have liked. She forced it down.

"Yeah, well, I don't need _your_ help," she muttered.

Cosette's face was stricken, particularly at the inflection on the '_your_', which Éponine was well aware she'd made to sound like a dirty word. Angry at herself now and imagining Combeferre's face arranged into an expression of disappointment, she crossed the short space between them and snatched the bottles out of her hands, tucking them into her elbow and ducking down to pick up her bag and the bottle of shampoo that Cosette hadn't managed to rescue. The plastic surface of the bottle was still damp from the shower.

"Just – just stay out of my way," Éponine ground out, now using Combeferre's face as a way to remind herself she couldn't lose her temper.

She pushed past the other girl and stomped out of the bathroom, desperately hoping that Cosette kept quiet about what had just happened. The last thing she needed was a lecture off one of the guys about being nice to perfect little Cosette – especially not Combeferre. Worse, she supposed, would be if that guard dog of Cosette's got wind of it; there weren't many people who could kick the crap out of Enjolras and she was surprised that Grantaire had managed to cause so much damage.

The itch was getting worse, and when she glanced down at her bare legs she could have sworn she could see fur rippling beneath her tanned skin.

Letting out a breath she didn't realise she was holding, she decided she'd go and speak to Bossuet as soon as she had got dressed.

OOO

Cosette returned to her room after her shower still shaking from her interaction with Éponine. She'd never really spoken to the girl before and had no idea where the hostility was coming from – she decided to put it down to embarrassment due to the fact she'd dropped everything rather than think about the possibility Éponine might just _not like her_.

She struggled with the idea of not being liked. She'd been bullied all the way through school and had only really come into her own during college, but sometimes it was hard to shake the feeling she was still that scared little girl being told she was ugly because her eyes were too big for her face or mercilessly teasing her for the fact she was adopted.

Grantaire took one look at her and opened his arms for a hug. "What's wrong?" he murmured into her hair as she wrapped her arms around his torso. She still had her towel and training clothes balled in her hands but she didn't care, just like she didn't care about the fact he stank of sweat.

"Nothing," she said. "I just feel...overwhelmed, I guess."

He tightened his arms around her briefly then held her at arm's length. "Come on," he said. "We're going to the kitchen."

"Why?" she said, letting him wrap his hand around hers and pull her off the bed.

"Cooking always makes you feel better, right?" he said, over his shoulder. "You can help Bahorel do shit whilst I take a shower."

Bahorel turned down the offer to let her help him make tonight's meal, but agreed to keep out of her way whilst she baked a cake.

She began to search for ingredients whilst Bahorel got out his baking equipment for her. "Do you have any stem ginger?" she threw over her shoulder.

Grantaire whistled. "Sweetheart, are you _sure_ you're okay?"

"I'm fine," she said, as Bahorel told her the jar was in the next cupboard along on the second shelf.

"Cosette bakes when she's bothered about something," Grantaire explained to Bahorel. "Ginger cake is kept for the _worst_ of situations."

"Oh, shoo," Cosette said, retrieving the jar from behind a box of muscovado sugar. "Or you won't get any."

Grantaire looked at her with an unimpressed gaze. "Wouldn't want any," he said, haughtily. "I've had rather enough of your ginger cake over the years."

He hurried out before she could lob a tea towel in his direction, leaving her alone with Bahorel.

Bahorel was busy chopping onions and trying to look like he wasn't crying, so Cosette chattered away to him without really caring whether he was listening. She told him about the recipe, how ginger cake was her father's favourite but Grantaire's most hated.

Bahorel scraped the onions off the chopping board into the frying pan on the stove with the flat of his knife. "What's the deal with Grantaire?" he asked, blinking rapidly. "He's a good fighter. I'd like to take him on myself."

Cosette looked up from where she was whisking eggs with sugar. "He – he used to be in the army," she said, carefully. She didn't want to give away too much because it wasn't her story to tell.

"Yeah, I know," Bahorel said, prodding at the onions with a wooden spoon. "But he's not now?"

"No," Cosette said. "It – it wasn't for him, in the end. But he still – you know, he still practises his fighting and he kept up with a lot of different martial arts..." She leaves out the part where exercise became Grantaire's distraction from all his problems.

"He's good," Bahorel said, now chopping mushrooms. "You, on the other hand, need to brush up on your skills."

"I'm not much of a fighter," Cosette said.

"Oh, we'll make a soldier out of you yet," Bahorel said, baring his teeth at her in a grin. "We made one out of Jehan and Joly and Marius and hell, _Enjolras_ can hold his own in a fight these days –"

"Why wouldn't they be good fighters anyway?" Cosette asked curiously, measuring out flour.

"Their races," Bahorel said. "They're not..._natural_ when it comes to fighting with the body. They're better with their respective powers. And Enjolras is just Enjolras. His race isn't designed for war at all."

"What do you mean?" Cosette asked, cocking her head to one side.

"He's –" Bahorel began, but the kitchen doors burst open and Courfeyrac, Marius, Combeferre and Éponine came in.

"Cosette is cooking!" Courfeyrac boomed.

Éponine was now paused in the doorway, scowling. She kept on scratching her arms, leaving behind red welts. She realised she was staring and looked away, not wanting to incur Éponine's wrath again.

Courfeyrac was hovering over her shoulder. "What cake is it?" he asked, staring at the array of ingredients with suspicious eyes.

"Ginger," Cosette said.

"Ginger," Marius echoed, sounding like he'd never heard the word before.

"I'm sure it will be nice," Combeferre said, fairly. "Not that I would know, of course."

"You could still eat some," Courfeyrac said, as Cosette smacked his hand to stop his fingers from dipping into the mixture of eggs and sugar.

"And spend the rest of the evening hacking it up again?" Combeferre pushed his glasses up his nose. "No, thank you." He glanced over his shoulder at Éponine; the dark-haired girl seemed to realise she was still stood in the doorway and suddenly moved forwards, dumping herself down onto one of the stools and staring down at the tabletop.

"Bahorel, how does it feel to have Cosette baking in your kitchen?" Courfeyrac sang, skipping away from Cosette and wrapping his arms around Bahorel's waist from behind.

"Strange," Bahorel said, "And get off me. I have a knife."

Courfeyrac skittered away to ruffle Marius' hair. Cosette watched from underneath her eyelashes as Courfeyrac leaned down to whisper something into Marius' ear. Marius' cheeks flushed and he shoved at the curly-haired man, who spun away laughing at the top of his voice.

Éponine huffed under her breath. Combeferre sat beside her and patted her on the back of the hand.

Cosette ignored them for the most part as she prepared the batter. It was mainly Courfeyrac regaling them with some long-winded story about some person he had once known, years ago, and she only heard the odd phrases ("_so I said, don't hurt the turtle, because who would do that_?" and "_so then it bit my little toe_" and "_his face looked a little bit like a cow's udder_" being her personal highlights). She poured all her concentration into the cake.

She reached out for the jar of stem ginger and unscrewed the lid. She fished out five chunks and arranged them on a chopping board so she could cut them into smaller pieces.

"Do you have a knife I can borrow? It only needs to be little," she said.

Bahorel turned away from the pan on the stove and rooted in a drawer. He produced a small knife with a white handle and handed it to her.

Holding the slippery piece of ginger between her fingers, she began to slice it. It was something she had done hundreds of times, but somehow, her fingers managed to slip and the knife sliced through the skin on her thumb instead of the ginger.

She hissed in pain and dropped the knife. Specks of blood dropped onto the chopping board and, on instinct, she stuck her thumb in her mouth and then realised that the kitchen had gone very quiet.

Every pair of eyes apart from Marius' were on Combeferre. Combeferre and Marius were staring at her. Marius' face was etched with concern whilst Combeferre's was oddly expressionless, even if his eyes were very intense.

She realised why they were staring at him and took an involuntary step backwards. Combeferre swallowed and got to his feet. He cleared his throat. "I'll be going now," he said in a very quiet voice, and slipped out of the room.

The room breathed as he left. Marius slid off his stool and approached her. "Let me see," he said, snagging one of the tea towels off the island as he walked.

Cosette took her thumb out of her mouth, guilt at making Combeferre feel uncomfortable welling up inside her. The guilt dissipated as Marius' bare hand touched hers, his fingers curling around her wrist and pulling her towards him. He held her still-bleeding thumb up to his eyes and then wrapped the tea towel around it. "It's not so bad," he said. "It's just a little nick, but sometimes those bleed the most, don't they?"

He was obviously trying to keep his tone light so ease the tension in the room, and she was grateful for it. "Sorry about the tea towel," Cosette said, looking at Bahorel.

He waved the wooden spoon in his hand at her, flinging some cooked onion onto the floor by accident. "It's not a problem," he said, dismissively.

"Sit down," Marius said, gently guiding her to sit on one of the stools. She held the cloth against her hand as she watched him begin to clean up the mess she had left behind.

"I think my cake will have to do without the stem ginger," she said, pressing down a little harder on the cut. It stung, a lot, but then she peeled away the towel to see if it had stopped bleeding.

It hadn't quite, and the skin around the little slice was now stained orange. She stared at the cut and wondered why she was starting to feel lightheaded. Blood had never bothered her before...

Suddenly, Marius' hand was there, pressing the towel back down over the cut. "Try not to look at it," he suggested, and kept his hand over hers.

Across the island, Éponine made a scathing little noise at the back of her throat and jumped off her stool with such force that the stool fell over with a clatter. Cosette snapped her head away from staring up at Marius to look at the girl, who was stomping out of the kitchen, leaving Cosette wondering what on earth her problem was.

**A/N: I referred to Feuilly as a 'maker demon' in the previous chapter because I thought that's what the other demons would refer to him as to Cosette and Grantaire to simplify what he is – Éponine, who has grown up in the demon realm, calls him by the title 'Opifex' which (according to a translator so I'm sorry if it's wrong!) means 'worker'.**


End file.
